No One Tells You

No one tells you how deployment sounds. The door closes behind you you arrive home to the air conditioning kicking on and no friendly, "how was your day?" from the other room. Tonight, you walk into the kitchen and turn jazz on to cook dinner to. Usually, laughter fills the kitchen and you hear him singing along to whatever is playing, but rather, it is your own silence and your own thoughts that you hear. You watch TV alone on the couch and look up to see where he normally sits. It sounds like no "I love you's" in that goofy voice from that spot. It sounds like his heartbeat at night when you lay on his chest. It sounds like his sigh in the morning when it's time to wake up for the long day ahead. But tonight, it's silence from the fans running. In the morning, it's your sigh when you wonder when he'll call and if he's okay.

No one tells you how deployment will look. You stare into the mirror after a night of restless sleep from worry, circles under your eyes.  It looks like a smile in the office hallway and your fight to hold back tears. It looks like glass of wine and no one to share your thoughts with. It looks like the flowers he bought you for your anniversary even though you couldn't be together. They make you smile, even just for a moment. You remember how much he loves you. It looks like scribbled notes that you keep reading over. It looks like old photos that you love to observe from the distance of time while a smile cracks on your face, "if only they knew how lucky they were." Life was simpler then. It looks like one side of the bed perpetually made up, waiting for him to come home. It looks like Thanksgiving plans with friends who take you in for the day. It looks like texts checking in with you from those friends. "Are you hanging in there? Are you doing okay?" It looks like unanswered phone calls. It looks like no phone calls. It looks like a box of Halloween decorations that you haven't put up because there's no one to decorate with.

No one tells you how deployment will feel. The loneliness, the fear, the anxiety. The depression that slowly creeps in and takes you over one day at a time. And one day, you wake up. That person you've missed so much may not even want to be yours anymore. That person may be a part of your past because no one told you that depression knocked you down and took you over. No one told you that anxiety would make it worse. No one told you because there's no way to quantify it. No one told you that you would become this. No one told you because they thought you would be different.

But you are different. You mess up and you fall down. But you get back up, put that smile on and continue to live. You continue to grow. And now, when you come home, you appreciate the moments. The moments that you hear from him, the jazz music in the kitchen, the memories, and the photos. The change comes when you realize that you are okay on your own. The change comes when you appreciate the sunsets, the sleepy mornings to yourself, the time passing, because one day, he'll be home with you.

If You Don't Write it Down, You'll Forget It

Bathsheba, East Coast, Barbados

"One more drink tonight!" This seemed to be the theme of the Caribbean lifestyle. This was an island where everyone has the potential to be a new friend or the perfect charm to bring old friends back together.

But let's back up for a second. I did the cliche spin a globe and pick a spot trick when my finger landed in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. "Hm...what's close?" I asked myself. "Ok, Barbados it is." I also intended to go alone and spend time alone writing and having existential internal experiences. So I booked an Airbnb with a private room and no real plans but hanging out on the beach and swimming with the turtles. Key word here: ALONE.

Within my first five minutes on arrival, I met the girl who was staying downstairs, and it just so happened that she came to Barbados with the same intention of traveling completely alone. We were both 27, both solo travelers, and we both worked from home. What a coincidence.

On my way out to my private dinner that evening, the girl downstairs (who I learned was named Julia from Lithuania) was playing cards on the back deck with our Rastafarian host. She asked me where I was dining. "NO! Don't go there. Keep walking ten minutes away past two beaches and go to Surfer's Cafe. Order the chicken caesar salad. Seriously it's the best I've ever had." I followed her advice and did just that. And my very jetlagged brain jammed out to some true island reggae at the lovely oceanside spot while I sipped on a local beer. By the end of the evening, I had met two Americans just down the bar from me. He was a doctor and she was a nurse and they were looking to get into some fun for their last few days in town. We exchanged information and promised to meet up at the Fish Fry on Friday evening.

By day two, Julia had our whole day planned out. The morning would be spent tasting rum at Mount Gay, the birthplace of the lovely liquid, followed by an afternoon in underground caves, and a sunset on the East side of the island, known for its surf waves and rugged coastline. All of this was led by our Rasta "dad", Gregory.

We hopped onto one of the fastest public city buses I've ever been on to zip up to Bridgetown. Gregory walked us around the neighborhood he grew up in, waving at what seemed like everyone there. "Respect, bruddah" was a constant greeting. Once we reached Mount Gay and finished learning about the history and distillation of rum, we were finally able to taste the assortment of deliciously aged rums.  The tour guide asked if we wanted a man, woman, or wimp pour. Each time, Julia and I excitedly turned to one another as we placed our snifters on the bar and shouted, "man pour!"

After a comfortable buzz, we walked to find a taxi that rode us through fields of sugar cane and up through hilltops and farmland toward the underground caves. Remnants of sugar plantations were still intact, harsh reminders of the oh-so-recent past. I asked the taxi driver if he knew anything about it. In his lovely accent, he answered, "Oh yes, my great grandfather worked the sugar factories. It was dangerous work. He lost a couple of fingers."

Once we reached the caves, we enjoyed the quiet of the countryside after the crazy, constant buzz of Bridgetown. Climbing down toward the caves, we saw monkeys scaling the jungle walls. Vines and huge tropical plants overtook the green landscape. The caves were a fun time for nerding out on geology with all the stalagmites and stalactites and also a nice, cool break from the tropical temperatures above ground.

After our time underground, we returned to the surface to board the most fun and probably dangerous bus ride of my life. The man driving whipped around country road corners at high speeds and crazy turns, totally missing bus stops with screaming and angry Barbadians but we just held on and thanked our lucky stars that we made the bus.

Once we reached the east coast, the sun was perfectly positioned to make the surroundings seem even more surreal. Huge rocks lined the pebble beach and I walked along in the tide pools collecting sea glass. I met a lady on the beach from England who thought that I was a lifeguard because I just "had that look about me."  After a nice walk, we all sat and enjoyed the sunset together as the surfers pushed out to sea for one more good wave.

Our final "bus" (small, speedy van) took us home for the evening. With all the windows down, reggae beats blasting, and friendly locals singing along, this was the perfect end to an already incredible day.

But it wasn't over because this island never slept. I told Julia that we were required to go find a Guinness because it was St. Paddy's Day. Not even a stone's throw from where we were, we found a great bar to enjoy our Irish celebration on a British isle while trying to figure out the rules to cricket that played on the TV.

After a few good beers, we walked back together and she said, "In the morning, let's go to the beach and eat pancakes." How could anyone say no to that?

It was in this moment that I laughed to myself that I ever thought I would spend my week there alone. You meet some of the most incredible people while traveling who change your life forever.

All of this...and then I realized I still had six more days in this wonderful place.

Waiting for the bus in Bridgetown with Julia and Gregory

A Brave Man Admits His Mistakes

What started out as a week of grief and mourning ended in one for a completely different person.  My brother and I flew cross-country from the west coast to Key Largo where we were preparing to attend the funeral of a man who was a mentor to us both, most especially my brother. 

Suddenly, we received a phone call from another man who once held the place of mentor in our life.  Our father called us from jail begging for bail money for crimes we still had yet to discover. What we did not expect was twenty-five years of secrets and deceit to come tumbling out of the jail cell with him.  

When we arrived at the small county jail to pick him up, what we realized was that the man standing in front of us was someone with much deeper-seeded problems.  He was someone we no longer recognized. He felt no remorse for his mistakes and denied everything.  

We sought others in the form of friends and family for guidance and help in the situation.  Only the people who knew him best. What they told us was to caution ourselves, guard ourselves, and keep each other safe from our father.  We learned that trusting him was a mistake that we had continued to make over the years to perpetuate a lifestyle that we had grown so accustomed to.  One of complete instability, negativity, and victimizing.  We saw those qualities in our own lives and it scared us.

My father was brought up on several charges of dirty business dealings, something that was a trend from the past for him. 

Our first inclination was to protect our younger siblings and my own mother, who had been hurt so many times before in their marriage. 

After my brother and I mourned the loss of our friend and mentor the following day, we took another day to mourn the loss of another man that we had genuinely seen as a hero in our young lives.  What we realized was that now, as adults, we had to overcome that idea. Now it was up to us to be our own ideas of success. 

I have tried to do my part in seeking help for him by making arrangements with therapists and meeting with his family.  He has rejected my help and the assistance of others as well. In his own mind, there is nothing wrong.  And his legal trial is pending.

Although the mourning process has been coupled with mixed emotions and trying times, I have come out with a clearer picture of myself and my family.  When secrets are no longer secret and lies are smashed to pieces, the world becomes a much less foggy place, even if the storm clouds take a while to clear out.

It will take time to overcome the events that continue to transpire, but what I can say is that I do not want to perpetuate the negative qualities that may exist in my own personality from my father. Rather than blaming him, I see it as a necessity to grow past.

It has brought the rest of the family closer in realizing that the man we once knew may not be here anymore.  The reality is that all that he has done in his life is truly his doing.  His responsibility.  A series of choices that he will or will not take credit or blame for. 

The other reality is that in this ambiguous loss, I take responsibility for how I react to it all.  For how I respond and overcome.  And that, in itself, is empowering.

Deja Vu

The landscape is vast, blending purple, blue, and grey hues all together at once.  The stark, white snow dots the view-filling landscape.  It is one of those views that is so large, it takes several frames of view to see it all at once, to capture it all in your mind.  I try to peer out of the plane window to see the top of the mountains, but even as I strain my neck to an impossible position, it is plainly out of sight.  The bumpy road takes me and a small group of fellow travelers, none of whom speak my language, to a tiny shack of a home on one of the hills in the foot of the shadowy mountains.  

I continually have the same dream repeatedly and consistently, almost like it has happened or is going to happen.

I still dream of this seemingly unknowable, unthinkable place, but to my mind, it does actually exist.  For me, during the day, I let my mind wander.  In my heart, I know exactly where it is. 

Just because you have not visited a place, seen a sight, or felt a feeling does not mean that it is obsolete.  It is there. Find it, or it will find you...often on its own in a delightfully sneaky sort of way. It always seems to be a journey, whatever the goal. And who knows?  Maybe we really have been there before after all.

Icy Strait, Glacier Bay, Alaska

A Day in the Life

The cold wind rushes through my hair as I reach the bow of the ship. I tuck my face down into my coat and take it all in. The sun is already out and the Alaskan wilderness is awake at this early hour. Standing with my coffee cup in hand, a mixture of steel blue, blinding white, and sooty grey come into view to match the stark contrast of jade-colored water.  

Flat calm, peaceful, and powerful all in one, the glacial valleys take my breath away. Although it is a glacier I have seen many times before, this view feels unique and personal.  I return to the warmth of the interior of the ship and am joined by my friends with morning chatter over coffee. 

Later on in the day, I hop onto a small skiff with the same group of friends as we silently observe two bears in a stream fishing for salmon.  The older bear is successful early in the hunt, but is later joined by the younger, but still large brown bear.  They gently look back toward our boat, then continue to enjoy their meals.

Dinner is interrupted by a pod of orcas swimming under our boat.  They come so close that we can see their individual markings. The bull has a light white marking near his dorsal fin shaped like a Nike swoosh and the calf still has his typical light yellow markings from birth.  He is an able-bodied newborn, however, as he flips through the air, slaps his tail, and plays with the other calf. They continued to follow our boat for two hours.

Once asleep, I am awoken by an announcement from the captain of northern lights. As I bundle up in my cozy jacket and blanket, I climb to the top deck and take in the bright green lights as they dance through the sky like a ribbon, twisting and shaping, forming, and fading. Arm in arm with my friends, we all stand, exchanging gasps of excitement and amazement.  Just as I think they lights are finished performing, they return for another show, each one different from the one before. This is just a glimpse into one of my favorite days as a steward on board a small cruise ship.  Although there is six weeks straight of hard work in between, ultimately it is all about the crew mates who are like family, the guests who are new friends, and the moments that make me stand in awe that solidify this as the experience of a lifetime. 

To the Lover of the Wilderness...

It is 4am and the sun meets me at the window like an old, familiar friend. The mist and fog hangs not he mountain tops, indicative of the once volcanic and ice-filled valleys. 

My small life feels wholely significant among the mist and meanings this place holds. 

I want to leave here, yet I am drawn so strongly to it. 

Flying over the luminous clouds, I can see the islands, wilderness, and mountains, and snow all at once. 

So much nature begs me to stay. 

"I will be back." Says my mind. 

But my heart knows I will never really leave. Alaska never departs the wild at heart. 

It has stuck, become a part of me, inexplicable and completely clear all at once. 

A "Voggy" Day in Kona Town

I got truly lucky for my last day in Kona Town. My friend decided to give me a tour around the west side of the Big Island.  We started with coffee plantations, local farmers markets, ancient royal grounds, and local breweries.  On this day, the "vog" or volcanic smog created an interesting haze over the island, as is characteristic.

We walked from her apartment after snacking on our assortment of tropical fruits and goodies we had collected from the day down to the beach across the street for a pre-sunset snorkel.  The beach is well-known for being the starting point of the Iron Man competition, but on this particular evening, the only people there were locals.

On shore, after an active snorkel in the Kailua Bay (boasting some of the most pristine water I have ever seen),  I climbed out of the ocean, placed my snorkel gear next to me, and dangled my legs over the seawall for one of my favorite activities: people watching.  

A group of local boys played in the sand, burying one another and then running away from the one submerged friend. Groups of families argued back in forth exchanging plenty of colorful words.  The crashing waves continued to hit my legs and I looked up at the ridge line toward the snow-capped volcano, Mauna Kea as the sky turned a hazy purple and pink.  

My friend showed me some of the hula moves she had been learning in her classes, and we swayed our hips and swirled our hands to celebrate the sunset in the best way we knew how.

On the ocean, we watched Humpback Whales surface and knew that Sperm Whales were asleep just below the surface. Such an overwhelming sight for the senses, I was a bit taken aback.  There were moments of the day that did not even feel real, yet as a great contradiction, I felt quite at home.

To feel stressed out in Kona seemed an impossibility. To me, that would just mean that quite frankly, one had missed the point of the aloha spirit. 

Good Morning Columbia

The light is a dark grey and blue hue now, but the salmon fisherman are in their boats, anticipating the catch of the day.  The Columbia River is as pristine and calm as ever. As we motor past them on our large boat, my lazy elbows catch the window sill to try and grasp the view in my mind forever. In the quiet of the morning, the smell of the coffee and the hum of the engine are the only things in my mind.

Some guests begin to saunter into the lounge.  I straighten my uniform up and smile a genuine, but tired smile.  I used to despise mornings.  But the moments before the sun rise are my favorite as of late. 

After I check on the coffee, I prepare some for myself and overhear a conversation just a few feet away.  The two ladies talking were complete strangers before, turned friends after just a few days aboard. Giggling loudly, then crying, they both speak of their recent trials with cancer. Holding hands, they begin to laugh aloud after what I assumed to be an inside joke.  Just then, I move toward the window to see the first sign of Mount Hood in the distance, snow capped and grand, demanding to be seen.  

The ladies move in next to me by the window. All of us, holding our coffee mugs, mouths widened by the view before us.  One of them looks in my direction and puts her arm around me. She says, "Oh honey, I bet you never tire of this view."  

And she is right. This moment was not so fleeting and it felt so wonderfully shared that made me  so connected in an otherwise jumbled, busy life.

Moments like these should have soundtracks. This one would be a happy one. Columbia River+Coffee+Sunrise=Memories

Irish Goodbyes

I woke up shivering in my room in Germany. I walked over to my radiator to adjust the heat and rubbed my eyes to see my friend Hanna, asleep in the next bed over. She rolled over, laughed and said, "I was too lazy to get up and turn the heat on. Who knew a German winter could be colder than a Swedish one?"

I threw a cover over Hanna's head and said, "Go back to sleep silly, it's only 4am." 

Just a few hours later, the three little girls I looked after were jumping on our beds and shouting, "It's snowing, it's snowing."  Sophia, the middle child, told us that she felt lucky. It snowed on her birthday, just for her, she is convinced.  

Peering out my window, I saw the world, a world over, covered in white. And slowly, I saw it covered in tiny little footprints of the excited neighborhood children.

When Hanna saw that I was awake, she and I moved chairs close to the window.  I shared my blanket so we can both enjoy the view from the warmth of the room.  She nudged to remind me that she needs to leave to go home soon. And by home, I know she meant home for good. This was her last stop before her flight.

That was one of the things that I could never get used to overseas.  Having to know such incredible people in small periods of time.   I became very accustomed to the Irish Goodbye.

But I will always remember the way the snow looked that morning. How the texture of my blanket felt.  How chilly the wood floor was beneath my bare feet.  The details of that day linger with me forever, just like hundreds of other moments.  And every time I see snow now, I always think of Hanna.

I guess people just have a way of sticking with you forever.

Been There, Done That, Have a T-Shirt

I started a goal list when I was seven years old.  I remember being so eager to travel because of my aunt and uncle's life.  His Navy career took he and his family overseas.  My cousin attended high school in Italy and brought back t-shirts for my brother and I that said, "Roma." Since one of us misplaced one, we naturally fought over this t-shirt for years.

I wanted my own foreign experiences and to learn languages.  So my parents encouraged me to start a list of things I wanted from life. I wrote it in my very best cursive with my favorite purple ink pen. My goal list grew year by year, starting out with simple things like..."Drive a boat, learn how to make ice cream, see it snow on Christmas"

I understood from a young age that I would be very busy in my life if I wanted to complete my goals. Today, I take this list out every so often and add to it, cross some things off, and it brings light to how important things were at times to me in my life. Often times it has brought me back to my roots. It is encouraging to be able to take the list out and check some off from time-to-time.

Ultimately, the point of these postings are not just a casual side project. I want to use it as a tool and a reminder of the importance of accomplishing arguably the biggest dream I have on my list...and the best part is that it has been on there since day one when I made the list seventeen years ago.

My major goal on the list still remains the same.  I want to see and hike some of the largest mountains in the world Something has always drawn me to them. Volcanic, glacial, snowy, evergreen. Every mountain just begs me to draw closer.

Why climb?  Mountaineer George Mallory had the answer:

"Because it's there."

Eight-year-old me driving a boat (with my feet of course)